My Heart, My Mind, My Soul, My Life
by PhantomTigre
Summary: A little HermioneDraco short story I wrote a while ago and just found on my computer. Draco contemplates ending his life. Short, sweet, and to the point.


1All my life I've been trying to prove myself to my father, prove that I am worthy to be his son, that I can and will live up to his expectations. I see now though, that his expectations are not just demanding, but near impossible. Every summer, I go home, emboldened by my stay at Hogwarts, planning to show my father how much I've learned and grown, how much better I am, but time and time again, he rejects me.

I walk through the hallways of Hogwarts and other passing students frown when the see me, their glaring eyes burning holes into my back. I can't remember when I last smiled. My face seems set in a constant sneer, as the anger at my father builds up within me. Why can't he praise me at least once? Support me? I'm his son for pete's sake! I feel the hatred spilling over, and yet, I think that's what he wants. He purposely provokes me, hits me, to build that rage inside me. Why? I don't know, I could be great without this anger, yet I somehow can't seem to let this anger go. And then, I feel a great sadness overwhelm me. I sprawl across my bed, staring at the deep green curtains surrounding it. My father will never love me, all my life I've only been a tool, a figure that he molds and sculpts to be a person I never planned on being. I don't believe he even thinks of me as an actual human being. Never will I fit my father's expectations.

The one thing I've been living for my whole life, was my father, but now... I don't think I have anything left to live for, I feel no joy anymore, no happiness, only the smoldering hatred, for him and the world that goes on so peacefully, so many people living perfectly happy lives, with families that care for them and accept them. And this is why, I must end my life. Perhaps, if I live another life, it will be a better one, where I can pursue the goals I want.

When I was a small boy I'd always wanted to be a professional quidditch player. Up on my broom I could let my mind simply drift away, the only thing in the world being the sky around me. My father discouraged me from flying, giving me only basic lessons. I learned bad form, things I had to unlearn at my own expense at Hogwarts. At least he let me play Quidditch, that was a glorious day, I knew that once I was on the team, I could become a good player, even if I wasn't one then.

In this life I live now, I am already dead. The world is dead for me, my heart feels like a cold lump inside my chest. The only companions I have are the other Slytherins, their own ambitions or simple meanness taking away the chance of any friendship really happening.

But then, there's Granger. Hermione Granger. Another reason for me to hate my father with his prejudices against silly houses in a school, with his mind towards only what the Dark Lord commands him to. I think that he believes that he can rise to become the next Dark Lord, or at least the Dark Lord's right hand. Power hungry, but who doesn't wish for glory during some point in their life?

Before I got to know my father, when my mother was my main teacher, I'd been allowed to wander. Beyond the manor's grounds had been a small muggle village. I must admit it is not there anymore, with the Dark Lord's rising it was one of the first to be diminished. There had lived there several children my age. I'd enjoyed playing foolish games with them all day until evening arrived and I knew I'd have to go back to the manor or my mother would be looking for me. When my father finally discovered of my games I was given the first and worst beating of my life. After that I hardly saw my mother anymore, it was constant lessons with my father. Reading, writing, math, the basic science of magic. And in everything he taught me, I did well, I had to. A few simple errors earned me several whacks on the back of my legs. The larger the error, the worse the beating. But no matter what, I tried, as hard as I could, to please my father.

As I study the ceiling I wonder how I should end my life. Drowning seems too uncomfortable, and jumping off something high or purposely falling off my broom, I'd rather not. Perhaps poison, but I don't think I'd be able to get my hands on that. It will have to be a knife then, slitting my wrists will be less painful than stabbing myself. To let the pain slowly ebb away as the blood of my life will flow from the cuts.

As I pull my knife out of my trunk for the last time, my mind once again goes to Hermione Granger. I could feel my heart go out to her the first time I laid eyes on her, but then she had to go and get herself stuck in Gryfindor. Later I learned she was also a muggle-born. My father would never stand for it. The hatred I felt at him for that, I took out on her, and her two friends. Even worse that Harry Potter was one of them. My father in fact encouraged me to bully Potter, and for once in my life there was something I could do to please my father. Harry Potter, the one who nearly destroyed my father's great and god-like master. So I did, it was hard though with Granger there to stand up for them. She has that effect on me, when she speaks I can always feel the wall around me start to flicker. Hating the fact that she is a mudblood, I openly called her that to her face. Wishing there was someway she could changer her birthright. I knew at the Quidditch cup they'd be going for muggles and mudbloods, and warn her I did. I don't think she appreciated it too much though.

Why do I have to be like this, making people hate me, being as cruel to them as my father has been to me. And I know that it's exactly what my father wants, but I can't not be like that. Ending my life will be the last and final reminder to my father, that I was never good enough for him.

I almost enjoyed parts of my stay at Hogwarts, and no the parts where I was making other people's lives miserable. I know that the houses separate people, create things similar to racism and hatred over differences, and I can't say I didn't do my hardest to enforce that.

Hermione Granger seems to see straight through me though; she seems to know that I'm someone else on the inside; that I never wanted to be the hardened person I am on the outside. She understands the situations our school gets placed in. I knew if I was put on the Inquisitorial Squad in my fifth year I could keep a hand on the going-ons of the school. Hermione seems to understand the intentions I have, even if I don't realize them myself. She has saved me from quite a few fights that could have resulted badly, in many ways. Why I do this to myself, I don't know. I don't think it's possible to truly understand yourself, the things you do, why you do them. You can understand everything around you, and the mysteries of your own mind, are only open to outsiders, blocked to only the owner of the mind.

Even though I've never had an actual conversation with her, I feel as though I've known her for ages, as though we're old friends, as though we've touched each other's inner thoughts. I know it when I steal a glance at her and her head inevitably turns to stare me straight in the eye.

It was she that made me realize that the life I had been living simply wasn't worth it anymore, I was hated while all along all I've ever wanted is the opposite.

The hallways are dark and silent as I walk quietly to the main entrance of Hogwarts, to the entrance hall. My only regret at ending my life is that I will never see Miss Granger again. I look around at the fancifully decorated door and large stone statues that blend with the walls behind them. I take my knife and gently bring it from the inside of my wrist, along my arm, to the bend of my elbow. I hardly feel anything at all as I watch the deep redness of my blood start to flow. Funny how life works, that it can be ended so easily. My blood covers the knife now and I drag it along my other wrist as the world starts to become fuzzy.

The ground suddenly becomes much closer, I never even felt myself fall. The carpet beneath me becomes wet, as do my robes. So much blood, so much, and I feel a first twinge of fear. So much blood, was it possible to bleed this much. I knew in that instant that I truly was going to die. But then, I see Hermione's face over mine, deep worry written all over it. I think I hear her say something, and then my world becomes black.

_The sun shines brightly down and I raise my four-year old hands. I run gleefully along the sidewalk to where a huddle of kids play with several old cardboard boxes. Then I see a girl come out of one of the houses looking upset, one of the closest friends I'd had as a child. I smile over at her and she looks up giving me a unsteady smile. She brushes her skirt off then runs over to the rest of us. _

_"What's wrong?" I ask, my voice that of a child's. _

_"I'm moving," she says, taking my hand, "I'll never see you again."_

_"Yes you will," I say fiercely. _

_"Hermione!" A woman standing in the doorway of a house calls, "Come on in now, its time for lunch."_

_"Okay Mommy!" she calls back then turns back to me and kisses my cheek softly before running back to her house._

Soft light streams down on me and I blink, wondering if I'm in heaven. In a rush my senses come back to me. I feel very weak, my mouth is dry and my stomach growls. Around me are the faint sounds of movement. I realize I am not dead. My heart sinks, I must have been found before I'd died. I know it will be harder to kill myself now that they've been alerted. I'll be watched now.

"Malfoy?" a soft voice asks.

Its then that I realize I did not imagine seeing her in the last moments before I blacked out, and that it must have been she that found me. I open my eyes fully and gaze up into the beautiful face of Hermione Granger. I attempt to sit up but she puts a restraining hand on my shoulder, so I relax, leaning back again, loving the warm feel of her hand against me.

"Why did you do it?" she asks as she sits down on the bed next to mine.

"I couldn't take it anymore," I hear myself saying and I briefly wonder why I'm answering so freely to her. I turn my head to look at her, my gaze finding her eyes. A look of deepest understanding passes between us, and then she leans down and kisses me.

"If you having nothing else to live for, then live for me," she whispers into my ear, "There is always a chance to make life better, don't give up that chance."

So I did. I stopped living for my father and started living my life as I wanted to. Hermione brightened every day of my life as I fell more deeply in love with her than I thought I could. She saved my heart, my soul, my mind, as well as my life.


End file.
